


A Potato Flew

by ANewDawn (ShyLittleRose)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Dead Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29814864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyLittleRose/pseuds/ANewDawn
Summary: Whose blood was spilt in that dark decrepit box? Who really died that day?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	A Potato Flew

An utter bastard, brimming with hatred and an obsessive need to control and destroy anything he can see. Memories faded with time of a teasing voice and wheezing laughter tainted with a venomous green.

This isn’t how Tommy would describe Dream, flowery and nostalgic and wordy. The only thing that he can describe him is dead. The smell of burnt person is smothering him and all he can think is how utterly human he is, everyone is, when they die. Tommy can say that for certain, because he has seen corpses, alcohol stained and bloodied bodies. He should feel sick. The potatoes weighing heavy in his stomach, but all he can think about is how it hasn’t disappeared and how quiet the room is.

Purple liquid drips and the lava pops and Dream is cooking. All he can see is an arm, reaching in, trying to drag him down into the lava. Where it should connect to more person has turned black after having sat there. How long has it been since the hand went still, and shrill pleas and incoherent screams suddenly cut off? Tommy didn’t mean for this to happen. He was meant to put everything behind him and heal.

The prison wasn’t supposed to lockdown. He wasn’t supposed to pass out. Dream wasn’t supposed to wait, creepily staring as Tommy woke up. Neither was he supposed to continuously toss potatoes towards him from the corner. He shouldn’t have tried needling Tommy into a conversation. Tommy shouldn’t have turned his back on the bastard. Dream definitely shouldn’t have touched him.

Tommy numbly recalls how thin and bony the wrist was when he had grabbed it. It haunts him how easy it was to fling his abuser, how light and weak Dream was in the face of adrenaline and fear. The way he stumbled, practically crashing into the lava and vanishing. When the arm came surging out the fiery liquid, he remembered the rush, gripping and pulling and how heavy it was now with tons upon tons of lava fighting against them. He was the only one holding on now, the grip lax from the other side.

“I hate you, come back asshole...”


End file.
